


sticky notes

by Anonymous



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Crack, Explicit Language, Gen, Gross, Inappropriate Humor, Vandalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-01 12:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20814884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Demoman gets a surprise.:)





	sticky notes

Demoman wobbled in direction of his room. It was night and he already drank all the alcohol he could for the day, and for God's sake he was going to sleep until the next morning.

Once he was in front of his door, he verified it was indeed his room, reading with difficulty the sign in it. With even more difficulty, he found his keys in one of his pockets and began to try to open the lock.

For his surprise, the door was slammed open, frightening him to his marrow. Then, Soldier and Scout stormed out of his room, nearly knocking him down to the floor.

Demoman’s first instinct was thinking that somehow he scared them off. Not as being discovered in a room that isn't theirs without permission, but as scaring them for real. As he was stabbed with a cold dagger right in his too big for this world heart. As being, unwanted...

**No.**

_ What THE FUCK they were doing in my room? _

The scare and the downer were enough to loosen part of his drunkenness. 

...almost.

After turning on the lights with a hit in the switch, he lost his balance and needed to hold onto his table with unfinished sticky bombs. Next to his work it was the notebook with the smiley faces he glued with adhesive tape everyday in his crotch, cutting them first from the paper. As much as was considered an old repetive joke for some of the mercs, it wasn’t going to stop being funny for him. A quirk that at that point he even thought it gave him luck. 

_ A-ha! _

Demoman leaned on his elbows and grabbed the notebook left open by the unsolicited visits before escaping from the scene of the crime. An open red marker was next to it, the top being missing. Nothing was in that page, so he clumsily closed it and opened it from the start. 

The already done smiley faces were vandalized with the red marker pen, which he used for marking his chemicals, not for the notepad. Angry eyebrows were done in the first drawings, and even a few mouths were remade with pointy teeth. Still an inoffensive drawing, even if tried to show more hostility, done by someone who didn’t get the irony of the originals, neither did not reflected how happy made Demoman turning the enemy mercenaries into gibs.

That had to be Soldier’s work.

He continued examining the notepad. Once his own drawing were done, Soldier tried to do a few of his own. The circles were erratic; the faces were even more angrier than before. 

Demoman was starting to get bored of changing pages, until one of the faces stood out. A drawing of a dick over it. The next and the rest pages were also dicks, until instead of red marker drawing there was (still) flesh blood staining the paper, perhaps from somebody nose after fighting over the notepad. He’d have noticed about the bleeding of most likely Scout's nose, however everything happened too fast for that.

Demoman closed the notebook firmly.

That was Scout’s ‘work’, obviously. Nobody else in the team still found that funny, except him, even if he was steadily getting closer to his thirties.

Once the mystery was over, Demoman wondered if he left his door open, unless...

With a quick further examination, he found that the door’s frame was broken.

Demoman sighed. Soldier’s ‘work’.

He decided that he was going to _ break _ both Soldier and Scout later, and will make sure it will _hurt_, telling ‘em first he will be gentle (he won’t). But first things first, and was going to sleep. 

Demoman closed the door as much as he could. He pulled the table in front of it later and turned off the lights. Tomorrow he was going to search if the vandals did something else in his room.

_ Oh God. _

Struck by a new disturbing idea, Demo ran next to his bed and hunched next to it until he could smell the middle of his bed. 

Phew, it didn’t stink like motherfucking cum. Without lights on he couldn’t see well. Demoman (over)dramatically and not thinking enough about it, sank his head in the mattress. _Thanks God_ it was not wet neither, he discerned.

He nervously chucked before lying down in the always undone bed, relieved that nobody really fucked in it.

**Author's Note:**

> writing practice number... [2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20856218), actually.


End file.
